“I tell you that I don’t want a portrait; you would be obliged to keep it, and I should like to know what good it would do you? A man doesn’t wear a portrait. Oh, yes! in a locket sometimes, I believe.—Well, well! now you are assuming your solemn expression again. Well, here I am, monsieur, here I am, don’t be angry; great heaven! I will pose as long as you wish.”
She resumed her seat. I glanced at her; she had hastily wiped her eyes, and yet I saw tears still glistening in them. What an extraordinary woman! What a combination of coquetry and sensibility! What on earth was going on in her heart? I was sometimes afraid to guess.
We worked for a long time, but I made little progress with my task, for I was absent-minded; the past and the present engrossed me in turn. Caroline herself was thoughtful. Sometimes she talked to me about Paris, and I divined that she was anxious to learn what my business was. I saw no reason why I should not tell her that I was an advocate. She seemed pleased to learn that I practised that profession. Why did she take so much interest in my concerns? I had not addressed a word of love to her.
Our second sitting was more cheerful; we were becoming accustomed to each other. When I sighed, she scolded me and told me to work more carefully. When she was pensive, I begged her to smile, to play the coquette as she did in society. Those sittings passed very quickly. Really I could hardly recognize myself; there were times when I was afraid that I was becoming too thoroughly accustomed to Caroline’s company. Ernest was quite right when he urged me to paint pretty women, in order to obtain distraction from my troubles.
XX
THE GAZETTE DES TRIBUNAUX
We had had ten sittings and the portrait was almost finished. In fact it might have been left as it was, for Caroline was delighted with it, and her uncle considered it as good a likeness as that of himself as Scapin; but I desired to do something more to it; and Caroline herself wished for some slight changes in the dress and in the hair. I thought that we should both be sorry when the sittings came to an end.
One evening, when the weather was bad and we had remained in the hotel with several other guests, the conversation became general. An old gentleman who was almost as loquacious as Monsieur Roquencourt, but much less affable, told us about a scandalous lawsuit which was reported in the Gazette des Tribunaux. It was a husband’s petition for divorce on the ground of his wife’s infidelity.
“There are many interesting details,” he said, “which the newspaper gives with its own reflections thereon.”
The old gentleman went up to his room to get the paper, which he was determined to read to us. I would gladly have dispensed with that favor. Whenever that subject was discussed I felt ill at ease. Those gentlemen laughed and jested freely concerning betrayed husbands. To no purpose did I pretend to laugh with them; I could not do it. I would have liked to change the subject, but I dared not; it seemed to me that they would fathom my motive. Luckily, Mademoiselle Derbin was beside me, and she did not seem to pay much attention to the trial reported by the Gazette des Tribunaux.
“Messieurs,” said an Englishman, “among us, the subject is viewed in a different light. It becomes almost a business transaction. We make the co-respondent pay very heavy damages.”